Ezra Pound: The American poet. Early 70s.
Woman: An attractive, well-dressed, middle-aged
psychiatrist from the Justice Department,
Washington, D.C. Articulate, firm, humane.
Betsy: A university student from New York.
Early 20s.
Scene
Ezra Pound’s room, Chestnut Ward
St Elizabeth’s Hospital
Washington, D.C.
Time
Late winter/early spring, 1958.
____________________________________________________
ACT ONE
SETTING: A private room in Chestnut Ward, St Elizabeth’s
Hospital, Washington, D.C. - the bowels of a derelict
submarine: wadded-up paper, trampled books, battered
cardboard boxes, old paint tins, tools and discarded
newspapers, dirty clothes, a couple of tennis
rackets, a few dusty oil paintings, etc. - the cargo
hold on a voyage to the dead.
Suspended over the chaos are several strands of twine
(like clotheslines) to which clippings, letters,
charts and sheaves of manuscripts have been attached:
an extravagant if not highly eccentric filing system
that can be raised or lowered at will by the
manipulation of a number of pulleys.
AT RISE: Elvis Presley’s Heartbreak Hotel blares out of the
shadows, then slowly recedes into the body of a
chunky “Bakelite” radio. The room is dark. A hopeful
beam of light shines through a tiny window in the
room’s only door. More of a peephole than a window.
A gray-haired old man, dwarfed by a larger-than-life
desk, hunches over an antique typewriter, asleep. His
clothes are disheveled; his hair, uncombed. HE is the
poet - EZRA POUND.
The music continues…
The door to the room opens, and an attractive, well-
dressed WOMAN, briefcase in hand, steps into the
door frame. SHE pauses for a moment, then enters.
SHE flicks on the lights, switches off the radio, and
gazes round the room. SHE peruses the filing system,
notes the unmade bed, runs her index finger along
the top of the dresser, checking for dust.
POUND
(In his sleep)
“They will come no more… the old men with the
beautiful manners.”
(The WOMAN removes her
overcoat. SHE takes a pad
and pencil from her briefcase
and turns to POUND)
POUND (Continued)
“O! O god! Our god is a gallant foe that
playeth behind the veil.”
(HE emits a drawn-out moan,
then raises his head. HE runs
his fingers through his hair. His
eyes dart over the topography
of the desk, as if HE might
be searching for something HE
has misplaced. HE sighs)
(The WOMAN moves closer.
Sensing her presence, POUND
turns in his chair. Their eyes
meet. POUND blinks, as if trying
to dispel an apparition. HE
reaches out, tentatively, as if
to test whether or not SHE
is real. SHE pulls away)
POUND (Continued)
A dream?
WOMAN
The Department of Justice.
POUND
Ah! A nightmare, then.
WOMAN
Doctor Overholser suggested the corridor,
but I thought it might be more comfortable
if we met in your room.
(POUND glances round at the mess)
POUND
Gives new meaning to the word “digs”,
wouldn’t you say?
(Beat)
Where’s the other one?
WOMAN
The other one?
POUND
The man. They usually send a man.
WOMAN
Oh! You mean Doctor Steiner.
POUND
That’s the one! Gawd, that guy can talk. Never
can get a word in edgewise.
WOMAN
You made quite an impression on him.
POUND
He likes the way I listen. We almost know each
other.
WOMAN
He had quite a lot to say about you.
POUND
Always brings a bottle of whisky with him. The
cheap stuff. Usually finishes it, too.
(Suspiciously)
Why isn’t he here?
WOMAN
Doctor Steiner won’t be coming.
POUND
Why not!
WOMAN
He’s not with the Department anymore.
POUND
Found another line of work, did he?
WOMAN
He retired.
POUND
Pity. Lasted much longer than the others.
WOMAN
I’ll be handling your case from now on.
My name is…
POUND
Must be the catalyst.
(Beat)
WOMAN
Pardon me?
POUND
Waal, I don’t normally see people on
Tuesdays, y’know. Busy schedule.
WOMAN
Today is Friday, Mr Pound.
POUND
Friday! Well, there you have it! Three
days lost already.
WOMAN
Doctor Overholser told you I was coming,
didn’t he?
POUND
Overholser!
WOMAN
He said he’d spoken to you about me.
POUND
Who else is here?
(Peering at the audience)
You’ve brought someone with you.
WOMAN
No.
POUND
Don’t lie to me. I can hear ‘em.
WOMAN
Mr Pound, there’s no one here…
POUND
Shush! Listen.
(They listen)
POUND (Continued)
Sometimes I have the distinct impression
I’m in a theatre. Everything’s so goddamned
unreal.
WOMAN
A theatre?
POUND
Yeah.
WOMAN
What sort of theatre?
POUND
Oh, I don’t know. An ordinary theatre. An
ordinary theatre with an ordinary audience.
(Waving to someone in the
audience)
Hell-lo! Hello, Doctor Overholser! I can
see you!
(To WOMAN)
Two-way mirror. Part of their therapy
program. Can’t scratch your ass without the
feeling someone’s watching.
(HE moves to his dresser,
opens a drawer and takes out
a large sweater with bright,
geometrical designs on it)
WOMAN
You think Doctor Overholser is spying
on you?
POUND
The man’s a virtual peeping tom. Bloody
unnerving. Everyone’s so goddamned preoccupied
with my private affairs. Voyeurism! It’s all
the go these days.
WOMAN
I’m sure Doctor Overholser respects your
privacy.
POUND
Don’t bullshit me. The man hangs on
every word. The thought he might actually
miss something terrifies him.
WOMAN
I’m sure he enjoys having you on the ward.
POUND
Oh yes, if lost me his entire social life
would evaporate. The man is voracious. Last
week, he wanted to know everything I could
tell him about Georgian poetry. Yesterday
it was Byzantine art. And tomorrow… tomorrow…?
(Referring to his diary)
Ah yes! Tomorrow he’s pencilled in Confucius.
Egad! There’s no rest from it. I must be
the only person on the planet the man can
have a serious conversation with.
WOMAN
Perhaps he thinks your ideas are worth
listening to.
POUND
Anyone who listens that closely can’t be
trusted.
WOMAN
He trusts you.
POUND
To a point, my dear, to a point. Only
because he knows where he can find me.
Why, just the other day he was convinced
Bill Williams was trying to sneak in
contraband. Can you imagine it?
WOMAN
Contraband?
POUND
Oh yes!
So much depends
upon
a sharpened hacksaw,
glazed with cherries,
inside the homemade
fruitcake.
(Beat)
The man knows absolutely nothing about
poets. And even less about me.
(Goes on picking lint)
WOMAN
Thinks you’re going to escape, does he?
POUND
You’ve heard! Yes! Over-hauler’s little
wager. He’s betting Frost is going to spring
me. I believe he has five bucks riding on it.
WOMAN
Really!
POUND
Five bucks, I know. A real gambler.
(HE slips into the sweater.
Holds out his arms)
So, whaddaya reckon? A bit loud?
WOMAN
No. No, not at all. It’s very becoming.
It’s… it’s you.
POUND
A spinster in Schnectady, New York, made it
for me. Knitted it herself. Blind since birth.
Took her three and a half years. A real fan.
(Goes on picking lint,
then looks up)
POUND (Continued)
What’re you staring at?
WOMAN
Was I staring?
POUND
I don’t care what you call it. You were
looking at me.
WOMAN
I’m sorry. It’s just that, well… I would’ve
taken you to be a much bigger man.
POUND
Everyone’s a critic. Actually, I am not as
short as I look. It’s just that the ceilings
are a mite high.
(HE gathers up a stack of
newspapers and magazines
from a chair and drops it on
the floor)
Take a seat, my dear. Make yourself at mental
home.
WOMAN
Thank you.
(SHE crosses to the chair)
POUND
Ignore the mess. It’s always like this.
(SHE sits)
WOMAN
I’d like to ask you a few questions… if you
wouldn’t mind.
(POUND picks up a plate of
leftover paté. HE sniffs it)
POUND
Dammit! I thought paté lasted forever.
(HE chucks the plate of paté
into a wastepaper basket, and
begins tidying up)
WOMAN
Mr Pound?
(HE continues to tidy up)
WOMAN
Mr Pound!
POUND
What?
WOMAN
I was thinking we might have a little chat…
you know, about some of your ideas.
POUND
I loathe chats.
WOMAN
There’s no reason to think of me as the
enemy. I assure you, that’s not my role.
POUND
Now I’m worried.
WOMAN
I can imagine what you must be feeling…
POUND
I don’t think so. But what about you?
What’re you feeling?
(Moving closer)
Ah yes… I see. It’s all over your face.
WOMAN
What?
POUND
Don’t be so coy. Look in the mirror. Go
on. There’s no use trying to hide it. You
can’t hide it!
WOMAN
Hide what?
POUND
I’m used to it. Believe me… it’s okay.
WOMAN
I’m not hiding anything, Mr Pound.
POUND
I can take it. Doesn’t bother me in the
slightest.
WOMAN
What’re you talking about?
POUND
You think I’m paranoid, don’t you?
WOMAN
Paranoid?
POUND
See! It just rolls off the tongue!
WOMAN
A little over-sensitive maybe, but…
POUND
You bet I’m sensitive! I’ve watched ‘em.
I know all about ‘em.
WOMAN
Who?
POUND
The people in charge here. The clipboard
brigade. The way they huddle in corners.
They don’t think I notice, but I do. The
Inquisition was organized by people like
that.
WOMAN
Why do you think you’re here, Mr Pound?
POUND
They didn’t tell you!
(In utter disgust)
Bureaucrats!
WOMAN
I’d like to know what you think.
POUND
Well, that certainly puts you in the minority.
(Beat)
Have you read my poems?
WOMAN
No.
POUND
Essays?
WOMAN
I’m afraid not.
POUND
What about my Guide to Kulchur?
WOMAN
Sorry.
POUND
Not a scrap?
WOMAN
Not yet.
POUND
And you’re interested in what I think?
WOMAN
I’m interested in what you have to say.
POUND
What about the translations? Or… the play?
WOMAN
I diagrammed sentences in high school English, and
studied math and science at college.
POUND
What do you read, then?
WOMAN
Well, let me see. There’s, uh, American
Medicine, and… uh, The New England Medical
Journal… Psychiatry And Health… and… oh yes,
I just finished Gone With The Wind.
POUND
Gone With the Wind!
WOMAN
By Margaret Mitchell.
POUND
Stepped in front of a bus, didn’t she?
WOMAN
I think it was an automobile.
POUND
That’s right. Hit and run. Some people
have all the luck.
(POUND moves away from the
WOMAN, then, in a bizarre display
of fatigue, stretches out on the floor.
HE twists and turns, trying to make
himself as flat as possible)
WOMAN
Mr Pound?
(Pause)
Mr Pound?
(Pause)
(HE sits up)
POUND
There it is again! Did you hear that?
WOMAN
What?
POUND
Someone laughing.
WOMAN
Where?
POUND
Sort of…
(Gesturing)
Sort of there.
(SHE listens)
WOMAN
I can’t hear anything.
POUND
Shush!
WOMAN
It was probably one of the other patients…
(POUND gets to his feet)
WOMAN (Continued)
Or termites.
POUND
Termites don’t laugh.
WOMAN
It’s a very old building.
POUND
They laugh in old buildings?
WOMAN
No one’s laughing, Mr Pound.
POUND
I bet we’d be able to see them if I turned
out the lights. Shall I turn out the lights?
WOMAN
I don’t think that’ll be necessary.
POUND
But you won’t be able to see them with
the lights on, not unless they light a match,
and they’re not allowed to smoke.
WOMAN
No. Not in a theatre.
POUND
Now you’re catching on.
(HE switches the lights off.
Darkness)
WOMAN
Mr Pound!
(Beat)
Ouch!
POUND
Sorry.
WOMAN
Mr Pound, where have you gone?
(Chair noises, banging)
WOMAN (Continued)
This is ridiculous.
POUND
Can you see them?
WOMAN
Who?
POUND
The people.
WOMAN
What people?
POUND
Give it a minute. Let the eyes adjust.
Extraordinary what you can see once the
eyes adjust.
WOMAN
I can’t see a thing.
POUND
Patience, my dear.
WOMAN
Please turn on the lights, Mr Pound.
POUND
Oh yes, yes… I’m starting to see something
now… over there… on the left.
WOMAN
I’m going to call the orderly, Mr Pound.
POUND
Wait! Can’t you see that?
WOMAN
Where?
POUND
You’ve got eyes, don’t you?
WOMAN
There’s nothing to see.
(SHE switches on the light)
(POUND is standing on top
of his desk, staring out at the
audience. HE turns to the
WOMAN)
POUND
What’re you doing?
WOMAN
Would you mind coming down.
POUND
What for?
WOMAN
I want to talk to you.
POUND
Did you see them?
WOMAN
(Angrily)
Would you please come down!
POUND
But there’s a whole group of ‘em.
WOMAN
I know.
(POUND steps on to a chair)
POUND
And they’re watching us. Both of us!
WOMAN
Maybe if we mind our own business they’ll
go away.
POUND
No, I’ve tried that. It only encourages
‘em.
WOMAN
Well, then we’ll just have to encourage
them a little more.
POUND
It’s not like you think.
WOMAN
Please, Mr Pound.
POUND
(To audience)
Maggots!
(HE steps from the chair to the
floor)
WOMAN
Sit down!
(HE sits)
WOMAN (Continued)
Thank you.
(SHE sits)
As you probably know, the Justice Department
has been reviewing your case for the purpose
of ascertaining your mental competency.
They’ve asked me to make an assessment of
your mental competency. Based on my findings
and the doctors’ reports, a recommendation will
be made about your fitness to answer the charges
against you…
POUND
Usual bureaucratic balls-up, eh?
WOMAN
Routine procedure.
POUND
Probably would’ve been easier if I’d hung
myself.
WOMAN
The government wants your case settled one
way or the other. That’s why I’m here.
POUND
Well, what’s it been now? Eleven, twelve
years? And still no sign of a trial. I’d
say you haven’t come a moment too soon.
WOMAN
You were the one who pleaded insanity.
POUND
Bad legal advice. Do I look like I have a
screw loose?
(HE smiles stupidly)
WOMAN
Treason is punishable by death, Mr Pound.
POUND
So is life, my dear.
WOMAN
They can still send you to the electric
chair, you know.
POUND
I ain’t skeerd.
WOMAN
You understand what I’m saying?
POUND
Oh yes, I understand plenty. It’s all the
other crap the law doesn’t cover that
confuses me.
WOMAN
Such as?
POUND
The sanctified stupidities! The whole
structure of what we so glibly refer to as
modern civilization. What about all that?
WOMAN
The committee is judging you, Mr Pound.
Society isn’t part of the brief.
POUND
Oh, I see. Yes. That explains it. Of course.
The memo mentality. Cogs in the wheel. Right.
I almost forgot. "Whom God would destroy, he
first puts into the hands of the public service!”
Silly me. Silly old fart. For a moment there
I almost thought poetry could make a difference
in the world. My mistake. It is obviously the
brief writers who have all the power in this
country. I was merely succinct.
WOMAN
This hasn’t anything to do with poetry,
Mr Pound.
POUND
No, goddammit! It’s about usury. And decay!
The destruction of everything Adams and
Jefferson stood for. The nation’s wealth
reduced to interest payments, and managed by
a few individuals for private profit without
any kind of production whatsoever. Greed
before bread, Mediocrity cloaked in graft.
WOMAN
The question is: are you capable of defending
yourself.
POUND
You mean am I crazy!
WOMAN
If it’s decided your mental faculties are
such that you can mount a reasonable defense,
then you’ll have your day in court.
POUND
And if I’m nuts?
WOMAN
Then you will have to remain here.
POUND
For the rest of my life.
WOMAN
Or until such time as you are able to
answer the charges.
POUND
Well I ain’t guilty, and the bastards
know it. The only reason they keep me
cooped up here is so I can’t tell the
truth about ‘em.
WOMAN
Your descriptions of President Roosevelt
were pretty extreme. People aren’t likely
to forget that sort of thing.
POUND
I only said what was true.
WOMAN
Over the radio.
POUND
And what about freedom of speech? Or don’t
that apply to poets no more?
WOMAN
The Constitution applies to everyone, Mr
Pound.
POUND
Well, freedom of speech is mockery if
it don’t include free speech over the radio.
WOMAN
It doesn’t mean you can say anything
you like.
POUND
The theatre was on fire, my dear!
WOMAN
You said the country was run by pigs.
POUND
I gave ‘em the facts.
WOMAN
As you saw them.
POUND
As an American citizen.
WOMAN
You defended Fascism.
POUND
My talks gave pain to the enemy - the
real enemy.
WOMAN
I’ve read the transcripts.
POUND
Then you had better read them again.
WOMAN
You said what you said during wartime,
Mr Pound.
POUND
To save the Constitution.
WOMAN
By undermining the government?
POUND
By trying to bust a racket!
(Beat)
You think we elect the people who run
this country? Political bug-wash! It’s
private interest that runs this country.
I’m telling you, there’s a conspiracy
against decency and justice going on out
there, and it’s going on right now.
WOMAN
Hitler and Mussolini were the conspirators.
POUND
Bilge!
WOMAN
You think they cared about decency… and
justice? The history of America was made
by people who gave their lives to fight
that kind of hatred and intolerance.
POUND
The history of this country was made
by men who kept their names out of it
so’s they wouldn’t get caught. Believe
what you like, my dear. A man still has
the right to defend himself, to have
his ideas examined one at a time.
(The WOMAN stares back)
WOMAN
I understand you’re a close friend of
the novelist, James Joyce.
POUND
Joyce?
(Beat)
Ah yes. Joyce and I speak regularly.
WOMAN
He lives in Washington, does he?
POUND
No. No, as a matter of fact, he’s dead.
WOMAN
Oh. I’m sorry.
POUND
These things happen.
WOMAN
(Consulting her notepad)
Nevertheless, there seem to be a number
of living writers who see you as the most
important literary figure of the twentieth
century.
POUND
And who believes ‘em!
WOMAN
Ernest Hemingway says you taught him
everything he knows about writing. T.S.
Eliot refers to you as a genius.
POUND
Where’s it say that?
WOMAN
They’ve signed a petition. The one
Robert Frost is sending round. They’re
calling you the father of modern poetry.
POUND
It does have a ring about it.
WOMAN
You like that, don’t you?
POUND
And what damn good has it done me?
WOMAN
You’re famous.
POUND
Infamous, my dear! That’s what my wife says.
WOMAN
Practically a household name.
POUND
A smidgen of a reputation. Nothing to get
excited about. Nothing approaching that of
Mr Eisenhower’s in any case.
WOMAN
President Eisenhower isn’t a writer.
POUND
No. No, not yet. But I’m sure he’s working
on it. Least he can get to a good library
when he needs one. By the way, how’s the
golf game? Still shooting in the low 90s?
(Pause)
Great game, golf. Impossible, though, in
a room this size.
(The WOMAN scribbles a note
in her pad. POUND cranes his
neck to read it)
POUND (Continued)
Getting it all down?
(Reminding her)
“… room this size.”
WOMAN
Thank you.
POUND
Don’t mention it.
(HE moves to his bed, lies
down)
WOMAN
Doctor Barnes has been a little disturbed…
POUND
You’ve noticed!
WOMAN
He says you talk in circles.
POUND
Graphic imagination, that boy.
WOMAN
He believes you’re suffering from some
kind of severe self-deception.
POUND
Cat-piss.
WOMAN
You don’t like Doctor Barnes, do you?
POUND
(With accent)
Waal, let’s jus’ say he ain’t as entertainin’
as Elvis Presley.
WOMAN
He’s assembled an impressive amount of data
concerning your case.
POUND
Barnes is a scientist. He has an abiding
faith in the proposition that everything
can be reduced to numbers.
WOMAN
He is also a highly qualified doctor.
POUND
He equates health with servility.
WOMAN
He was telling me you talk in your sleep.
He said you do it almost every night.
POUND
Last bastion of free speech in this
country, my dear.
WOMAN
At first he thought it was only gibberish,
but now he isn’t so sure. He has the
impression you’re mumbling names.
(POUND sits up)
POUND
Names? What sort of names?
WOMAN
He thought they sounded foreign. You
speak several languages, don’t you?
POUND
I can ask for the bathroom in Latin, if
that’s what you mean.
(HE pulls an apple from the
bedclothes, polishes it on his
sleeve)
(The WOMAN consults her
notepad. SHE thumbs through
the pages until SHE finds what
SHE’s looking for)
WOMAN
What does Wool-long-gong mean to you?
POUND
Come again?
WOMAN
(Reading from pad)
“Wool-long-gong”.
POUND
Is it s’pose to mean something?
WOMAN
You tell me.
POUND
Woolen-gong… Woolen gong. Hmm. What a strange
concept.
WOMAN
Why’s that?
POUND
A woolen gong. You wouldn’t be able to hear it!
(The WOMAN stares back,
then consults her pad again)
WOMAN
What about…
(Reads)
“Warr-nam-bool”?
POUND
Warr-nam-bool… Warr-nam-bool. No, I don’t
think I know this language.
WOMAN
(Reading)
“Wand-jina.”
POUND
Wand-jina?
WOMAN
That’s what it says…
(Spelling it)
W-A-N-D-…
POUND
What is this? Verbal ink blots?
WOMAN
They’re some of the words you’ve mumbling
in your sleep. The orderly, Mr Brierson,
wrote them down.
POUND
Brierson!
WOMAN
He thought they might be part of a code.
POUND
Gawd, I wish he’d find a hobby!
WOMAN
They’re not code words?
POUND
My dear woman, our greatest problem is
that almost everything is a goddamned code.
We do not know what is real any more. Every
gesture is symbolic. A man cannot shit
short of some pundit finding hidden meaning
in it. Even having children is a metaphor.
Hence, we cannot trust ourselves; and,
therefore, we do not trust anybody. No my
dear, I do not believe in codes, and even
if I did I certainly would not use one in
my sleep!
(HE takes a bite from the
apple, chews vigorously)
WOMAN
Doctor Barnes thinks they may be the names
of places in Australia.
POUND
Auss’ralia?
WOMAN
That’s what he said. You made several
references to Australia in the radio broadcasts.
You suggested selling it to the Jews, I believe.
POUND
Barnes has been to Auss’ralia, has he?
WOMAN
I don’t think so.
POUND
Well, how the hell would he know?
WOMAN
I believe he found them in his crossword
puzzle dictionary.
POUND
That’d be right. Mind like a steel trap.
WOMAN
Do you do crosswords?
POUND
Not if I can help it. Although now that
you mention it, I do remember Barnes asking
me for a six-letter word beginning with “B”
– the name for an Auss’ralian wild horse.
WOMAN
And?
POUND
I called him a “bastud”… and he wrote
that down!
(Pause)
WOMAN
You correspond with several Australians,
don’t you?
POUND
I read The Edge.
WOMAN
The edge?
POUND
It’s an Auss’tralian literary journal.
WOMAN
Really!
POUND
It’s not all kangaroos and beer, y’know.
They can read!
WOMAN
I’m sure they do. It’s just that, well…
whenever I think about Australia, it seems
so large and empty and faraway.
POUND
Idaho is worse.
WOMAN
But Idaho is connected to something bigger.
POUND
So is Auss’ralia! Under the ocean.
(POUND places his apple
on the edge of the desk, and
picks up a pair of binoculars)
Damn things are permanently out of focus.
(Holds them to his eyes)
Government issue. What is far is near. And what
is near is far. Have a captain, my dear.
(Beat)
Captain Cook. Look!
(HE holds the wrong end of
the binoculars to her eyes)
The illusion of vistas.
(SHE takes the binoculars
from him and puts them down)
POUND (Continued)
Maybe it was something I ate. This talking
in my sleep… maybe it’s the food.
WOMAN
Or something from your past.
POUND
You’d like that, wouldn’t you?
WOMAN
Tell me about Australia. What do you know
about it?
POUND
Not much.
WOMAN
What have you heard, then? What have you read?
POUND
I can’t see what this has to do with my
mental competency.
WOMAN
It is interesting, though. The names you’ve
been saying.
POUND
What comes out of the mouth doesn’t necessarily
explain anything… although…
(Beat)
WOMAN
What?
POUND
Never mind. It’s not important.
WOMAN
What were you going to say?
POUND
Nothing. I’ve talked too much.
WOMAN
But we’ve only just started.
POUND
We have?
WOMAN
Tell me what you were going to say.
POUND
I don’t think so.
WOMAN
Why not?
POUND
Why should I?
WOMAN
It might be useful.
POUND
For whom?
WOMAN
For me.
POUND
More grist for the note pad, eh?
WOMAN
I want to understand you.
POUND
Uh-huh.
(Pause)
POUND (Continued)
All right, then.
(POUND sits down next to the
WOMAN)
Ever walked naked in a desert?
WOMAN
Pardon me?
POUND
You know… taken off your clothes and walked
naked in a desert.
(HE waits for her a reply,
but there is none)
A desert.
(Beat)
I knew you wouldn’t understand.
WOMAN
You’re not making yourself very clear.
POUND
Words cannot do everything, my dear. That’s
the problem. You would’ve had to have been
there.
WOMAN
Where?
POUND
(Sighs)
Find a desert, take off your clothes,
and walk! The sense of vulnerability is
exhilarating. To feel the wind on your
skin; the hot sand on the soles of your
feet.
(Beat)
Well?
WOMAN
I’m a Methodist. I mean, I was raised
Methodist. My parents were Methodists.
POUND
Methodist… Jew… Taoist… it hardly matters,
my dear.
WOMAN
I had a grandmother who was a nudist.
POUND
Good Gawd!
WOMAN
Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. We
promised not to tell anyone outside the
family. I mean, we all thought of her
as the black sheep, but…
POUND
Don’t apologize.
WOMAN
I’m not!
POUND
Sounds like it.
WOMAN
Well I wasn’t.
POUND
Good.
(Beat)
You wouldn’t happen to be against the
death penalty by any chance?
(Pause)
WOMAN
We’re not here to talk about me, Mr Pound.
POUND
No. Quite right. How rude of me. It’s just
that when you mentioned your grandmother…
WOMAN
We were talking about Australia.
POUND
Yes. Auss’ralia.
WOMAN
Well?
POUND
Well what?
WOMAN
Tell us about it.
POUND
Us?
WOMAN
Me.
POUND
Whaddaya wanna hear?
WOMAN
Whatever you like.
POUND
Auss’ralia, eh?
(HE thinks)
Waal., uh… let’s see… it’s the, uh, oldest
piece of dry land on earth.
WOMAN
(Taking notes)
Yes.
POUND
And, uh… it has a parliamentary democracy.
WOMAN
Uh-huh.
POUND
Gave women the vote years before the
Americans even thought of it… and, uh… uh…
WOMAN
Go on.
POUND
It’s the home of the Pintupi.
WOMAN
The what?
POUND
Did I say that?
WOMAN
You said home of the… Beenobee?
POUND
Pintupi. An obscure Aboriginal tribe. You’ll
find a reference or two in The Pisan Cantos.
WOMAN
You’ve written about them!
POUND
Oh yes.
WOMAN
How peculiar. There’s no mention of that
in your file.
(SHE makes a note in her pad)
POUND
There is now.
WOMAN
So how did you come to write about the
Aborigines when you’ve never been to
Australia?
POUND
After they arrested me, they chucked me
in a cage no larger than a dog kennel. Six
weeks on a concrete floor with the wind
and the rain. And Mount Taishan my only
friend. When one is alone one remembers
the strangest things.
WOMAN
You read about them?
POUND
It’s not all in books, my dear.
WOMAN
So?
POUND
So imagine: no books, no libraries, no
bank accounts, no clothes! You wanna know
where civilization screws up? It wears
clothes when it should be naked, and is
naked when it should be wearing clothes.
Europe, for example.
WOMAN
Europe?
POUND
Ah yes!
Yoo-rup! How wonderfully plump!
Gluttonous to the core!
Force-fed and filled up
from early infantry to Murder in the Cathedral.
Conceived out of cave men and cave women.
Terrorized by saber-tooth and frost;
devoid of pulchritude.
Familiar and strange as the parts
of one’s body one never sees.
Or the eyes of eagles lost
in machines evolved from earth
and trees in the heartland
of indolent factories…
WOMAN
Mr Pound…
POUND
Vast armies of sculptures,
bastion-like with retinues of scribes,
chanting. Crowded in
backs against the weather.
Crowding - a goad for competition.
Fighting makes the blood hot, you know.
And makes the bankers even richer.
Two thousand years of kulchur
to make a habit of Art!
(Beat)
And what have we actually produced?
Corruption. Bankruptcy. Wars.
The higher maggotry!
Not like the Aborigines!
(Pause)
WOMAN
Was that one of your own compositions?
(POUND picks up the apple,
snaps off another chunk.
POUND
You liked it?
WOMAN
Not particularly. Was it a poem?
POUND
No.
(Tosses the unfinished apple
over his shoulder)
WOMAN
It sounded like a poem.
POUND
I make it a point never to write poems
while I’m being interviewed.
WOMAN
It was very passionate.
POUND
Thank you.
WOMAN
And a little frightening.
POUND
You’re fishing!
WOMAN
Australia was a prison colony, wasn’t it?
POUND
The English sent their children there
for stealing loaves of bread. The British
have always had an interest in prisons.
Building them, I mean. Industrious little
buggers with an obsession for security.
WOMAN
Maybe that’s the connection.
POUND
What?
WOMAN
Maybe you see some parallel between Australia
and your time here.
POUND
No. Too obvious.
WOMAN
But not impossible.
POUND
Nothing’s impossible, my dear.
WOMAN
Do you ever dream?
POUND
(With suspicion)
Why?
WOMAN
You were having a dream when I came in.
POUND
After you came in.
(Beat)
This part of the investigation?
WOMAN
Does it make you nervous?
POUND
Should it? Reckon I might let something
slip, eh?
WOMAN
I shouldn’t think so.
POUND
You following all this?
WOMAN
Avidly.
POUND
Good.
WOMAN
So… can you remember any of your dreams?
POUND
How do you know I won’t just make something up?
WOMAN
I don’t.
(Pause)
POUND
Waal… there is one, one that recurs.
WOMAN
Is it always the same?
POUND
Always the same, more or less. Quite odd, really.
WOMAN
Tell me about it.
POUND
Waal… there’s red earth… and, uh, stone
implements. Axe-heads, that sort of thing,
on the ground. And, uh… a mountainous horizon…
strange-looking trees… silence. Oh yeah,
and rabbit shit.
WOMAN
Pardon me?
POUND
Well, I’m no expert, but it’s about the right size.
WOMAN
Is it vivid?
POUND
The rabbit shit?
WOMAN
The dream.
POUND
Oh! No, no, not vivid. More like seeing
everything through a smoke haze. Where do
you s’pose they come from? Dreams.
WOMAN
That’s a difficult question.
POUND
I’m not going anywhere.
WOMAN
Oh! I thought you said you were busy.
POUND
You’ve changed my mind.
WOMAN
I see.
POUND
So tell me.
WOMAN
Dreams. Well… I tend to see them as
expressions of an individual’s unacted
desires and urges. Repressed emotions and
drives are symbolically lived out in dream
states.
(POUND becomes increasingly
restless as SHE continues)
WOMAN (Continued)
The entire history of the human race,
theoretically, can be understood in terms of
repression. The conscious mind is only a
small part of the total picture. In civilized
societies, we find these repressed urges bubbling
up in dreams. They may not be…
(Beat)
Are you listening, Mr Pound?
POUND
The Freudian angle, eh?
WOMAN
You don’t agree with Freud?
POUND
We spend twelve hundred generations developing
so-called civilization to the point where it
produces an expert who can offer us salvation
from our superstitions, and all we end up with
is another superstition! If it takes someone
like Freud to save us from our neuroses, what’s
it gonna take to save us from Freud?
WOMAN
You don’t like Freud?
POUND
Viennese sewerage! America’s been up Freud’s asshole
for twenty years!
WOMAN
Oh I get it. Freud.
POUND
I thought we were talking dreams.
WOMAN
Freud’s Jewish.
POUND
PussyKIKEeatrists! The conspiracy of Jews is the
cause of everything wrong with the world,
including the publishing business! Read The
Protocols, dammit! The Ten Commandments
is “Chewlaw”. A lot of regulations not based
on any ethic whatsodam but merely aimed at imposing
fines for the benefit of priests and levys. The
jew book has been filling bughouses with nuts
ever since they set up such institutions.
WOMAN
That’s a very harsh assessment.
POUND
What they’ve done to mankind is worse.
WOMAN
Do you really hate them that much?
POUND
Hate them! No! No, on the whole I have a
bigger quarrel with the Irish. But I can’t
see what any of this has to do with the
indictment.
WOMAN
You had a lot to say about them in the radio
broadcasts.
POUND
I wouldn’t hurt a fly.
(The WOMAN consults her note
pad)
WOMAN
On the ninth of April, 1942, you said that
“… the United States has been invaded by vermin,
meaning the Jews, and that Roosevelt belonged
in an insane asylum…”
POUND
Too good for him!
WOMAN
On the twenty-third of April, you told
your audience that if the American public
had had the sense to eliminate Roosevelt
and his Jews or the Jews and their Roosevelt at
the last election, America would’ve never
gone to war.
POUND
They’ve known for years what I think!
WOMAN
You have signed letters with “Heil Hitler”
and swastikas. You’ve even described Hitler
as a saint and a martyr.
POUND
I wasn’t indicted for anti-Semitism.
WOMAN
No.
POUND
Well, I’m glad we agree on that.
WOMAN
But you knew what you were saying, didn’t you?
POUND
No one understood a damn thing!
WOMAN
But you knew what you were saying.
(A SIGNIFICANT PAUSE)
POUND
Yes!
WOMAN
Do you really hate them that much?
POUND
One must take them individually, my dear.
WOMAN
Not like they were taken at Auschwitz, you mean.
POUND
There weren’t any gas ovens in Italy.
WOMAN
And not very much justice, either.
POUND
Ask the Rothschilds about justice.
WOMAN
And what about the Cohens… and the Blums… and
the Goldsteins?
POUND
Friends of yours, are they?
(The WOMAN moves to the desk)
WOMAN
You know how Hitler dealt with traitors,
don’t you?
(Beat)
He hung them with piano wire.
(SHE plucks a string of the
mandolin lying on the desk as
SHE recites each victim’s name)
WOMAN (Continued)
Von Witzleben
POUND
A-Flat.
WOMAN
Hase
POUND
C-Major.
WOMAN
Von Stauffenburg.
POUND
No, my dear! Stauffenburg was shot. Nothing
to do with piano wire.
(Snatching the mandolin away
from her)
Wonderful imagination. Taken by music, are we?
WOMAN
You can’t see it, can you?
POUND
And what about Vivaldi? Or don’t he count?
WOMAN
Lucky for him he wasn’t Jewish.
POUND
Think I would’ve left him unheard?
WOMAN
It seems you have a preoccupation with tribal people.
POUND
My mind wanders. Nomad.
(More emphatic)
No mad!
WOMAN
You think life would’ve been more bearable
if the brown shirts had taken over?
POUND
That’s got nothing to do with it. And stop
telling me what I think!
WOMAN
I’m trying to understand you.
POUND
Well, you’ll not understand a damn thing
until you understand the money system.
How many times do I have to say it?
“Five million young people without jobs!
One hundred thousand violent crimes!
FOUR million adult illiterates!
3rd term of FDR:
CASE for the prosecution!”
WOMAN
You can say that about a lot of countries.
POUND
But not the richest country in the world.
WOMAN
It’s not as simple as that.
POUND
The truth is always simple. It is only the
Lie that is complicated.
WOMAN
And who is to say what is lie and which is
the truth?
POUND
No country can suppress truth and live well.
WOMAN
What about decency… loyalty… patriotism?
POUND
Oh, I’m all for national pride, my dear. You
know me. But you’re a fool if you think you
can have loyalty to something you don’t
understand. The horror is: those in power
know even less about what’s going on than
you do! Or I do! So long as the papers arrive
every morning and the toast don’t burn, we
are quite content to believe it all has
meaning. Life in the monkeyhouse.
WOMAN
You’re very lucky, you know, being an
American citizen. In another country, they
would’ve thrown away the key.
POUND
Yes, in a free country they keep dangling
it in front of your face, just out of reach.
America should’ve lost the war. Look how
the Japs prosper!
WOMAN
You are unhappy about the result of the war?
POUND
The trouble with modern warfare is that
it never gives you a chance to kill the
right people. And yes, I am unhappy.
(Beat)
POUND (Continued)
You fancy a cup of tea?
WOMAN
No, thank you.
POUND
Good. Nothing so undramatic as a cup of tea.
(Beat)
What about a bagel, then?
WOMAN
Nothing.
POUND
Provolone?
WOMAN
I’m not hungry.
POUND
For anything?
WOMAN
I’ve eaten.
(Pause)
POUND
Maybe there is nothing to do but give
up speaking altogether.
(The WOMAN makes a note
in her pad. POUND gazes down
at her)
POUND (Continued)
Your pen’s leaking.
(Hands her a tissue)
WOMAN
Thank you.
POUND
Don’t mention it.
(SHE wipes her fingers and her
pen as POUND moves to his
bed and sits down)
WOMAN
So… are you satisfied with the treatment
you’ve been receiving here?
POUND
What treatment? The bastards haven’t
even arrived at a diagnosis!
WOMAN
You have feelings of melancholia?
POUND
In abundance.
WOMAN
Fits of depression?
POUND
Unmitigated!
WOMAN
A sense of isolation?
POUND
It’s not exactly the YMCA
WOMAN
You don’t feel at home in America.
POUND
I live in an insane asylum. Of course I
feel at home.
WOMAN
That’s not what I meant.
POUND
Well, you can spend a lifetime getting
clear about what you mean.
(Pause)
WOMAN
What do you want, Mr Pound?
(Pause)
POUND
A new civilization!
(A PROFOUND SILENCE)
WOMAN
If you were tried, and they acquitted,
would you stay in the United States?
POUND
And go to football games? And the World Series?
WOMAN
Well…
POUND
(Warming up)
And sing The Star-Spangled Banner… and eat
turkey and cranberry sauce at Thanksgiving…
and television?
WOMAN
I suppose.
POUND
Oh!
(Rising)
“Oh, the thought… the thought of what
America would be like if the Classics had
a wide circulation, oh well, it troubles
my sleep!”
(The WOMAN stares back, nonplussed)
WOMAN
I take it that means no.
POUND
I don’t see that it’s any one’s damn
business what I do when I get out.
WOMAN
There’s been some concern that your
criticisms about the United States might
be exploited by a foreign power.
POUND
Which goes to show how little they know
about history. I should’ve taken my day
in court when I had the chance. And I
ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘til I’ve had my say!
WOMAN
You can say whatever you like.
POUND
In court!
WOMAN
You pleaded insanity.
POUND
I hadn’t realized before what a compliment
it was to be hanged.
(Pause)
WOMAN
You really don’t want this to go to court,
do you? You thought you’d plead insanity and
they’d slap you on the wrist and let you go.
POUND
The question is: am I right?
WOMAN
The question is: are you sane? I don’t
think you’re as crazy as everyone thinks.
POUND
Oh, they’re going to love hearing that
down at the Justice Department. Locking up
a sane man in an asylum
for nearly thirteen years. Yes, that sounds
like the American Way.
WOMAN
I’d say you’ve done rather well for yourself.
You have everything you need right here. Wine,
chess, caviar, tennis, a constant stream of
visitors…
POUND
Yes. Everything except freedom, my dear.
WOMAN
Doctor Barnes says you’re writing more than
ever. It’s not so very different from being on
a literary fellowship, is it?
POUND
I’ve always said America owed its ten best
poets a living, but this wasn’t exactly what
I had in mind. You’d like to see me get the
chair, wouldn’t you?
WOMAN
No.
POUND
Think I’ve got it coming, eh?
WOMAN
It’s not up to me.
POUND
(Framing the words)
She always gets her man.
WOMAN
I abhor what you’ve done, and what you’ve
had to say about the Jews I find completely
despicable, but the thought of sending you
to the electric chair… I don’t believe in
capital punishment, Mr Pound. I never have.
That’s what makes it so difficult.
POUND
Yes. A bitch of a situation.
WOMAN
I am talking about your life.
POUND
We are talking about the rights of the
individual! What’d they have to do to buy
you off?
WOMAN
No one’s bought me.
POUND
Then why’re you going against what you believe?
WOMAN
I love my country, Mr Pound.
POUND
A human being has a duty to avoid servility.
WOMAN
You threatened the United States.
POUND
Only the cranks who are running it.
WOMAN
People can abuse freedom, Mr Pound.
POUND
Only when they ain’t free.
(Beat)
What’re you afraid of? What is it? The gentle
nudge of oblivion, or merely politics?
WOMAN
You aren’t a political prisoner.
POUND
No, I’m here for committing accuracy. C’mon,
open your eyes. They should’ve hung me in
1946 - it would’ve been easier. Or maybe
fixed it to look like a suicide.
WOMAN
The Department isn’t out to get you, Mr Pound.
POUND
No. It’s you they’re after! Sending you
down here to this dreary rat trap, making
you listen to a crazy old fool.
A good bureaucrat never makes a decision.
Rule number one, two and three, my dear.
Think about it. Say I’m mad, and they’ll
have to leave me here. America’s skeleton in
he closet, the national treasure it deserves.
Not such a good option. But if you say I’m
sane, well, they’ll have to give me the
forum of a courtroom. They’ll have to let me
speak. And maybe, even, the firing squad.
You wouldn’t like that now, would you dear?
No, we’re both on trial here.
WOMAN
You don’t know what you’re talking about.
POUND
Of course I don’t! I’m depressed and
paranoid and untrustworthy. But you’re
the sucker who’s making the recommendations.
(Beat)
You never should’ve got involved. You
should’ve stayed right out of it.
WOMAN
I think I’m capable of looking after myself.
POUND
Bet nobody else wanted it.
WOMAN
Nobody else was asked.
POUND
Right! Cos this situation - this forgotten
piece of the war, this demented old porcupine -
is a bitch of an embarrassment to them. And
it has nothing to do with my mental health.
This is about the abuse of language. It’s an
exercise in scapegoating and, I’m afraid,
you’re it!
WOMAN
I don’t believe that for a moment.
POUND
And that’s exactly what will allow them
to get away with it.
WOMAN
Get away with what?
POUND
Lies. Hypocrisy and lies.
WOMAN
It’s your mental condition the Department
is interested in.
POUND
Like shit it is! This is about justice
and injustice. The right to confide or
not to confide. To decide what we
keep and what we give away.
WOMAN
Stop confusing the issue, Mr Pound!
POUND
I want to know what is mine! How far do
you people go?
WOMAN
You know, I think you like it here. The
noble victim. The abused visionary. The
genius in the madhouse. That offers a
lot more scope than the role of the elderly,
almost-forgotten poet in exile, doesn’t it?
POUND
It’s heartening to see you’re not letting
objectivity obscure the facts.
WOMAN
You’re the centre of attention. Living
proof of the injustice of the system. You
don’t really want to be released at all,
do you? You’ve been using us all along.
POUND
I certainly have not dropped an atom bomb
on anyone.
WOMAN
The bomb was used to stop the war.
POUND
The bomb was used so’s they’d have something to
show for the twenty million bucks they spent.
WOMAN
If you hadn’t been a poet - if you’d been
factory worker, or a teacher, or even a
doctor - no voice would’ve been raised in your
defense. But if the court finds you guilty,
you’re guilty twice. For treason as a citizen,
and for the poet’s betrayal of everything
that is decent in human civilization.
POUND
Go on, say it. Say it! Old Ez is as nutty
as a fruitcake. That’s what you think.
WOMAN
(Calmly)
Stop acting like a child.
POUND
Maybe we can organize a guillotine instead
of a hanging.
WOMAN
I have a job to do.
POUND
Oh yes… a real team player.
WOMAN
A loyal citizen.
POUND
Loyal to fragments.
WOMAN
Loyal to my government… to democracy… to the
values America stands for.
POUND
To have allegiance to what is scattered is
usury, my dear.
(Beat)
By god, how they tempt us! Why, they’re
probably not even paying you what you’re
worth.
WOMAN
Money has nothing to do with it.
POUND
Money has everything to do with it!
WOMAN
Not for me.
POUND
No?
WOMAN
Not at all.
POUND
Positive?
WOMAN
Absolutely.
POUND
All right, then, sling us fifty bucks.
(HE smiles)
Bottom of the totem pole, eh?
New kid on the block.
Think you can win them over?
WOMAN
It’s not a competition.
POUND
No, not with my odds!
(Pause)
WOMAN
So what should I do? Tell them you’re
sane and give you a chance to speak,
knowing they won’t listen, knowing they’ll
probably execute you? Or lie about
your mental state and leave you here?
POUND
You wouldn’t lie about something like that.
WOMAN
I’ve never lied in my life.
POUND
Yes… a Methodist.
(The WOMAN turns away. SHE
stuffs the note pad into her
briefcase, snaps the case
shut, and reaches for her
overcoat)
POUND (Continued)
Where are you going?
WOMAN
Home.
POUND
Home! But what about my questions?
WOMAN
What questions are those?
POUND
Well, it’s been a bit one-sided, don’t
you think? A bit of a one-way street.
WOMAN
Maybe next time.
POUND
But there may not be a next time. I may
never see you again. There are things you
can tell me.
WOMAN
I doubt it.
(SHE turns to leave)
POUND
You call this justice?
(Beat)
Wait!
(SHE stops)
POUND (Continued)
All right. All right then. I, I know
I’ve been a little difficult, but…
WOMAN
You’ve been abysmal!
(Beat)
You have no idea what it’s like. I don’t
have to prove I can do this job. Not to
you, not to anyone.
POUND
You take them too seriously.
WOMAN
And you don’t?
(Pause)
POUND
I am sure we will remember the Fifties
with a great deal more fondness than we
felt while living through them.
WOMAN
They said you’d be difficult. They warned
me. But I came along today with an open mind.
(Beat)
You have every right to despise what you think I
represent, Mr Pound, given the fact you’ve been
locked away here all these years. But that doesn’t
give you the right to insult me. You think
you’re the only person who’s ever been
persecuted? Do you really believe that
the poetry legitimizes what you’ve done and said?
POUND
I’ll wager the Department doesn’t know what
it’s got, having you on the payroll.
WOMAN
That’s why I got your case.
POUND
I’m honored.
(The WOMAN stiffens, trying
to control her anger)
WOMAN
You smug, self-congratulating old fascist.
You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Even
after twelve years in this hole, you still
think you know more than everyone else.
The poor, misunderstood genius. The helpless
victim who believes he has all the answers
if only the world will listen to him. But
a coward’s still a coward no matter what
he hides behind, and poetry won’t change
that. You’re wrong, and you know you’re wrong.
Mussolini was a tyrant. Hitler was a butcher!
And there are probably just as many poor
Jews out there who have been done in
by the banks as anyone else. But in your
world you only use the ingredients that suit
you. Well, as far as this public servant is
concerned, you can go straight to hell!
(SHE moves to the door)
(POUND sits on the edge of his
bed, drained. The WOMAN stops,
and turns to him)
WOMAN (Continued)
Mr Pound?
(Silence)
Mr Pound?
(Silence)
Mr Pound, this won’t help you, you know.
Sooner or later you’ll have to speak.
(Silence)
Mr Pound?
(SHE crosses to him,
and sits beside him on
the bed)
Mr Pound!
(Beat)
Mr Pound, where are you?
(Pause)
POUND
Why, in hell, my dear. In hell.
(They regard each other)
WOMAN
I guess there’s nothing more to say.
POUND
Everyone is alone. That is what our
culture has produced - a pain deeper than
politics.
WOMAN
What am I supposed to do?
POUND
That’s the wrong question.
WOMAN
What’re we supposed to do?
POUND
Let’s not turn this in to a farce.
WOMAN
I agree.
POUND
We’re not ignorant people. We’re not dumb
animals.
WOMAN
You are a very difficult man, Mr Pound.
POUND
Yes, my dear, I know. A real challenge.
(HE moves closer)
So… tell me about Gone With The Wind.
(Stage lights out)
END ACT 1
ACT TWO
SETTING: POUND’S room. Messier than before.
AT RISE: Vivaldi’s music is playing.
Stage lights up.
POUND pulls out an old suitcase and throws it
open on his bed. HE turns, surveying the
room. HE picks up his alarm clock from a
bedside chair and places it in the suitcase.
Music fades.
POUND hums tunelessly to himself as HE sorts
through the chaos. HE retrieves what HE
wants, guided by some kind of inner logic.
Is HE getting ready for a trial, or preparing
himself for the death house? HE extracts a
few articles of clothing from a dresser
drawer: a sweater, shirt and bathrobe. HE
places these haphazardly into the suitcase.
Moving to his desk, HE stares at a sheet of
paper in his typewriter. HE reads it
silently, then picks up two books, weighing
them appreciatively before crossing back
to his bed. HE places the books in the
suitcase.
What next? HE glances round the room,
gathers up his binoculars, his hairbrush,
and then, unable to resist the temptation,
HE hurries back to his desk. HE sits
down, scanning the results of his latest re-
write.
POUND
(Reading)
Sic semper tyrannis…
A brackish tribulation.
The knowledge of plants and birds
serves better than a stipend.
A direct feeling…
(Weighing the words)
A direct feeling…
(Becoming aware of a
presence in the room.
HE turns to the audience,
squinting, shading his
eyes with his hand)
What?! Oh. You again.
Can’t get enough, eh?
Enjoying the nuthouse, are we?
(Pulls the paper from the
typewriter and wads it up)
Government by the peep-hole, of the peep-hole,
for the peep-hole.
(Tosses the paper over
his shoulder)
“A cage”: the metaphor
too obvious, too alliterative,
didactic, humorless;
tho’ useful on occasion.
Leaden diadem of the banking mentality:
Life in the monkeyhouse.
Not such a good place for poetry, but. . .
“no man has perennial fortune,
slow foot or swift foot, death delays
but for a season.”
(HE follows the flight of a fly
through the air. HE reaches for
a manuscript and holds it at the
ready. The fly lights on his
typewriter. HE observes it for
a moment before slamming the
manuscript down. HE examines
the flattened insect, then flicks
it with his finger)
Better to say: Montana is in the air.
Big sky ceiling.
A walk through deserted streets
of one’s childhood home.
The joke is on me.
(HE stands and moves slowly
downstage. His manner is
conversational at first, as if
addressing someone in the
audience, but becomes more
dramatic as he warms up)
How long have you been in?
(Beat)
I see. You’re not in.
That’s what they all say.
You’re not going anywhere though, are you?
(Beat)
I didn’t think so.
Yes, I understand. Capisce!
Never the proposals that get in the way,
only the stupid questions
and inattention to answers;
the blind assent to speed:
the headlong rush into untried truth
because he said this
and she said that,
so long as everything is quick,
so long as everything is sweet.
As if life could be conceived and born
in a night’s sleep;
toddling by breakfast;
high school on the way to work;
college and a perfect marriage by noon;
old age for lunch; and a palsied decline
in time for tea.
Setting for an early hour
the alarm clock by Death;
and Heaven: another sleep.
So how is it that Men and Women
make it through another day
with such velocity,
with so little deliberation?
(Beat)
Freedom is a wishbone
caught up in the hand of a child who
believes in magic and cannot speak,
for speaking does not make wishes happen.
What is closest to us must always remain a secret,
and there is tragedy in this.
Syntax cannot change this room.
Something more is required. . .
or something less.
Courage: the rudimentary ingredient.
Better to reflect the world without a word
than talk ourselves to death.
But make no mistake –
this is no theatre of ideas,
only lucid dream.
In here, the passing show
lacks the usual requisite action,
but should do in any case.
The anticipation of a long journey
is still possible,
even when there is no horizon.
(Vivaldi’s music fades up as the
stage lights fade down, giving the
impression that the play is over.
POUND glances round)
POUND (Continued)
Wait!
(The music stops, stage lights
fade up)
POUND (Continued)
But how? How did I begin
to leave this place where the dead walk
and the living are made of cardboard?
(Beat)
Bring it back!
(Beat)
A second time?
(The voice of a tormented, human
soul can be heard howling in another
ward. It is joined by other voices.
POUND takes everything out of his
suitcase, putting back each item
exactly where HE found it. The last
item - the alarm clock - stops him.
HE pauses over it, his finger drawing
a slow, deliberate circle over its face,
as if turning back its hands. The
howling subsides)
POUND (Continued)
The other day, two women came to visit. Yes, two.
One, who did most of the talking; and one who was
so quiet it was like she wasn’t here at all. They
looked like perfect candidates for the Ez-uversity…
(BETSY, a university student
in her early 20s, enters with a
load of books and papers, and
a portable tape recorder. SHE
deposits these on the desk)
BETSY
Mr Pound?
POUND
(Looking up)
Hullo!
BETSY
I brought the research.
POUND
Research?
BETSY
From the library… at Columbia.
POUND
How did you get in?
BETSY
The, uh, orderly. He… he said it would be okay.
POUND
He did?
BETSY
I hope we haven’t come at a bad time.
POUND
We?
(Beat)
Who are you?
BETSY
Betsy.
POUND
Betsy?
BETSY
Don’t you remember?
POUND
What?
BETSY
Me. Being here.
POUND
When?
BETSY
Mr Pound!
POUND
What did we talk about?
BETSY
All sorts of things.
POUND
That narrows it down.
BETSY
You were trying to tell me about the Australian
Aborigines. You were complaining that the library
here at the hospital was no good.
POUND
And the orderly let you in.
BETSY
(Nodding)
Mr Brierson.
POUND
And he didn’t warn you about me?
BETSY
No.
(Pause)
POUND
C’mere.
(BETSY hesitates)
POUND (Continued)
C’mon, c’mon!
(SHE moves closer. POUND
gives her the once-over)
POUND (Continued)
What did Brierson say?
BETSY
He said you were feeling depressed. He
thought you might not speak to us.
POUND
Yup, that’s Brierson. Always splendidly
candid about my condition.
BETSY
He wasn’t mean about it or anything.
POUND
No, no, of course not. The man’s a saint.
BETSY
He said he didn’t think you should be
here, that you were only confused.
POUND
The guy has no concept of anything at all.
BETSY
He was critical of the Justice Department.
He… he said the State was barbaric.
POUND
Barbaric, eh? Quite a likeable chap, really.
BETSY
He said that if you’d just kept quiet you
probably wouldn’t…
POUND
Kept quiet! Nonsense! “The man of understanding
can no more sit quiet while his country lets its
literature decay than a good doctor could sit
quietly watching some ignorant child infect
itself with tuberculosis under the impression
it was merely eating jam tarts.”
BETSY
It doesn’t make any sense, does it?
POUND
What?
BETSY
Calling ourselves modern, and then locking our poets
away in insane asylums.
POUND
“Modern” ended with Hiroshima.
BETSY
But you’re a great poet, Mr Pound.
POUND
I’m also a helluva tennis player. So what!
BETSY
It’s wrong. What they’re doing to you.
POUND
You’re not from the Department, are you?
BETSY
No. Margaret and I are from New York. From Columbia
University.
POUND
Margaret?
BETSY
(Gesturing)
My friend.
(POUND looks but sees nothing)
BETSY (Continued)
We caught the Greyhound from New York last night.
POUND
And people wonder why I’m paranoid.
BETSY
Are you sure you don’t remember me, Mr Pound?
POUND
Maybe it’ll come to me. You’re… you’re a teacher,
right?
BETSY
Students. English majors.
POUND
Ah!
(Beat)
Well… uh… make yourself comfortable.
(BETSY sits on the edge
of the desk, letting her feet
swing free)
POUND
From, uh, New York?
BETSY
Both of us.
POUND
(Confidentially)
Let’s leave her out of it, shall we?
BETSY
We can’t do that, Mr Pound.
POUND
Why not?
BETSY
It wouldn’t be right.
POUND
Oh. Yes, of course.
(Beat)
And the orderly let you in.
BETSY
I think he felt sorry for us. We’d come such a long
way.
POUND
And you didn’t have to bribe him?
BETSY
We didn’t have anything to bribe him with.
POUND
Uh-huh.
(Beat)
I doubt that.
(BETSY glances down at the
desk. SHE reaches for the
typewriter)
POUND (Continued)
Don’t fiddle!
(SHE withdraws her hand)
POUND (Continued)
Quick reactions… I like that.
BETSY
I’m sorry.
POUND
So you should be.
(HE moves to his desk, covering
the typewriter with a towel)
BETSY
Were you working on something?
POUND
Between distractions.
BETSY
If you’d like us to leave…
POUND
No! No, it’ll keep. One of the virtues of
poetry... unlike pate.
(HE picks up a few stray
sheets paper and pegs them
to his clothesline)
BETSY
I brought a tape recorder.
POUND
A what?
BETSY
A tape recorder. The last time I was here you
said it would be okay if I made some recordings.
POUND
What sort of recordings?
BETSY
Of you.
POUND
I don’t remember that. In fact, come to think
of it, I don’t remember you at all.
BETSY
You said if I brought you the information you
wanted you’d let me record you reading some of
your poems.
POUND
Was I awake?
BETSY
Mr Pound!
POUND
Sometimes I nod off in the middle of conversations,
and people think it means I’m agreeing with them.
BETSY
We had a long conversation about it.
POUND
We did?
BETSY
I’m not making it up.
(POUND is distracted by a
sheet of paper on the floor.
HE picks it up and examines
it)
BETSY (Continued)
You said you thought it was a good idea.
(POUND pegs the sheet of
paper to his clothesline)
BETSY (Continued)
Mr Pound?
(POUND continues looking
at the paper HE has pegged
to the line)
BETSY (Continued)
Mr Pound!
POUND
Call me “Grampaw”.
BETSY
Grampaw?
POUND
All my young visitors call me Grampaw.
(BETSY smiles)
POUND (Continued)
And try being a little less pushy, will you?
(Aside)
I have to direct the thing as well.
(POUND and BETSY look into
each other’s eyes)
POUND
Enchanting.
BETSY
What?
POUND
Your eyes.
BETSY
Thank you.
(POUND lingers, then turns away)
POUND
So, you’ve been travelling all night, huh?
BETSY
Yes. Margaret and I.
POUND
Margaret?
(HE looks)
Ah, yes.
BETSY
She’s very shy. Sometimes I even forget she’s
there, myself. Very self-contained, though.
POUND
Yes. Tremendous self-discipline.
BETSY
She’s a very good listener, too.
POUND
I’ve heard of bit parts, but this is ridiculous.
BETSY
Excuse me?
POUND
Just talking to myself. One of the fringe
benefits of being here. Ought to be more
careful, eh? They might think I’m mad.
BETSY
I don’t think you’re mad at all. You just
see things a little differently from most people.
POUND
Is that it?
BETSY
I’m sure you’re just as sane as I am.
POUND
Well, that’s a relief.
(Beat)
How do you feel?
BETSY
A little tired, I guess, but…
POUND
No, no, no. I mean, how do you feel? Are
you sure you’re not from just down the hall?
BETSY
No. From New York.
POUND
Oh… good.
(BETSY gazes round the room)
BETSY
Gee, there’s not much light is there?
POUND
No. They’re very particular about the light.
They don’t want the little there is escaping
out the windows, so they keep them closed.
Think about it. Bureaucracies understand
these things. Would you care for a glass of
wine?
BETSY
They allow you wine?
POUND
Almost everything! Free country, you know.
BETSY
Gee. I never knew about the wine.
POUND
What about a sandwich? You look like you could
use a sandwich.
(HE bolts to the fridge)
Lemme see… lemme see… what’ve we got here?
Bacon… marmalade… ketchup. Ah! What about
some mayonnaise?
(HE turns, holding up a jar)
From Havana!
BETSY
Cuban mayonnaise?
POUND
Hemingway.
(HE takes the lid off
and sniffs)
Totally eclipsed by his prose, I’m afraid, but then
it’s not easy being a Renaissance man these days.
(HE samples some with
his finger)
BETSY
A glass of wine would be nice, thank you.
POUND
Wine. Right!
(HE replaces the lid and
returns the jar to the fridge.
HE crosses to the desk,
opens a drawer and
rummages through the
litter)
There’s a very passable drop of red here
somewhere.
(HE pulls out several bits
of paper, a 45 rpm record,
a few playing cards, a
crumpled magazine, a couple
of empty jars, and a tennis
ball. The ball bounces away.
Finally, HE extracts an
already-open bottle of red
wine. HE holds it up)
Chateauneuf du Pape, 1953. cummings left it when
he was here last week. He knows I loathe red.
BETSY
e.e. cummings?
POUND
You know cummings, do you?
(Uncorks the bottle)
BETSY
He’s one of Margaret’s favorite poets! He was at
Columbia last year reading his poetry, wasn’t he
Margaret?
(POUND glances in the
direction of the unseen
Margaret)
POUND
A devotee, huh?
BETSY
She identifies with him.
POUND
Uh-huh.
BETSY
She’s read everything he’s ever published.
POUND
Extraordinary. One is never very sure where the
lovers of verse are these days, and then when you
meet one… well…
(Beat)
Is Margaret drinking?
(BETSY shakes her head)
POUND (Continued)
Bad liver?
BETSY
Eczema. She breaks out all over.
POUND
How irritating!
BETSY
Milk has the same effect on her.
(POUND glances in Margaret’s
direction)
POUND
Poor thing. You just can’t win, can you?
(Beat)
Looks like she’s been a mite heavy-handed with the
vanishing creme.
BETSY
Most people just ignore her.
POUND
No wonder.
BETSY
My mother doesn’t see her at all.
POUND
Really!
(HE pours the wine into the
two, empty jars)
BETSY
You and Mr cummings are good friends, aren’t you?
POUND
We’ve had our spats. Last time he came here it ended
in an argument over some confounded notion of his
that he knew the language of blue-jays… and that man
is out on the street, mind you!
BETSY
Did he mean it?
POUND
Course he meant it! Good poets always mean it.
Cantankerous old bastard.
(Beat)
Here.
(HE hands the jar of wine to
BETSY)
BETSY
Thank you.
POUND
Don’t mention it.
(Lifting his glass)
To your health.
BETSY
And long life.
POUND
Why not!
(They drink. POUND doesn’t
like the taste)
BETSY
It’s good.
POUND
Hmmm.
(BETSY has another sip.
Silence)
POUND
(In unison)
So what possessed you to…?
BETSY
(In unison)
If someone had told me….
(Pause)
POUND
(In unison)
Is this the first time…
BETSY
(In unison)
Margaret and I were…
(Another pause)
POUND
Go ahead.
BETSY
No, you.
POUND
No, I insist.
BETSY
After you.
POUND
What did you say your name was?
BETSY
Betsy.
POUND
Betsy.
BETSY
Short for Elizabeth… like the hospital. It was my
grandmother’s name. She was from Boston.
POUND
Boston!
BETSY
She worked on the Sacco and Vanzetti Defense
Committee.
POUND
(Ironically)
Terrific.
BETSY
She was so upset when they were executed… she
stayed in England for ten years. My aunt says
I’m just like her, only she never had an
interest in poetry… my grandmother, I mean.
She was more of a political animal, I guess.
You know, a dreamer. Everyone thought she
was terribly eccentric.
POUND
Sounds like my father.
BETSY
Was he in politics?
POUND
Politics? No. No, as a matter of fact, he was
an assayer at the Mint, in Philadelphia. Homer.
When I was eight he took me down to watch them
counting the money. All the silver money in America
was counted that year. They didn’t miss a nickel.
Men stripped to the waist, sweating under the
gas flares, shoveling coins into the counting
machines. Money was real in those days, y’know.
It meant something.
BETSY
Yeah. I had to borrow fifteen dollars for
the bus tickets.
POUND
That’s how it starts.
(BETSY places her jar on
the desk and picks up her
handbag)
BETSY
Would you mind if I smoked?
POUND
Are you getting hot?
(BETSY looks puzzled)
POUND (Continued)
Please… go ahead. I won’t tell.
(BETSY extracts a packet of
cigarettes from her bag)
BETSY
Would you like one?
POUND
Maybe later.
(BETSY shakes a cigarette from
the packet)
BETSY
Margaret thinks I smoke too much. She keeps
telling me it’ll stunt my growth.
POUND
Yes, well, uh…. Margaret looks like she’d know
about that sort of thing.
(POUND picks up a box
of matches, lights the cigarette.
Pushing aside a heap of
manuscripts, HE uncovers an
ashtray, places it on the edge
of the desk)
(BETSY exhales, sighs)
BETSY
That’s better.
(An appreciation of silence)
BETSY (Continued)
So… can we start the recordings?
POUND
Huh?
BETSY
You know… something from The Cantos maybe, or…
well, anything you like, really.
(POUND stares at her in mild
disbelief as she moves to set up
the tape recorder)
BETSY
Maybe you could just talk for a while.
POUND
I thought we’d settled that.
BETSY
But you promised.
POUND
I have no memory of promising any such thing.
(Beat)
Why’s it so important, anyway?
BETSY
Because what you have to say is worth listening to.
POUND
Nonsense.
BETSY
Because it’s a way of making people understand.
POUND
Good Gawd.
BETSY
People will listen.
POUND
Like they did to the radio broadcasts.
BETSY
I’m talking about poetry, Grampaw.
POUND
Part of some English assignment, is it?
BETSY
No.
POUND
Come on!
BETSY
It’s not!
POUND
You don’t have to lie to me.
BETSY
I’m not lying.
POUND
Trying to make a name for yourself, are you?
BETSY
No!
POUND
Well what is it, then?
BETSY
You said a poet should sing what he cares about.
POUND
Not when it means diverting attention. They might
end up thinking I like it here.
BETSY
But it’s important.
POUND
Bird in cage does not sing.
BETSY
If we could just record a few...
POUND
Bird in cage does not sing! One
finishes saying “cage” between clenched teeth.
You notice? The way the body imitates the
meaning:
(Between clenched teeth)
Bird in cage does not sing.
BETSY
I wouldn’t even mind getting that.
POUND
Ah, my dear girl, can’t you see? The main
spring’s busted, and nothing can put it
right, not until the record’s been set straight.
I have wasted too much time with poetry in here.
BETSY
You’ve been here so long… it would affect
anybody.
POUND
But I ain’t crazy!
BETSY
I know.
POUND
You do?
BETSY
I never thought you were crazy to begin with.
POUND
If only I’d studied Confucius earlier I
never would’ve gotten into this mess.
(Beat)
Maybe I should’ve stopped the broadcasts
after Pearl Harbor.
BETSY
What you said on the radio didn’t cause the
deaths of any Americans.
POUND
They still said I was a traitor.
BETSY
You tried to stop the war.
POUND
No. I said too much… always too much where it
didn’t count. They’ll never let me forget it,
either.
BETSY
People make mistakes, Grampaw.
POUND
This was never part of the deal, y’know.
I was double-crossed. They were supposed to
release me after the insanity hearing.
Thirteen years in the bughouse was never
part of the agenda.
BETSY
Is that what they said?
POUND
They didn’t say a damn thing. It was all
nudges and winks. The doctors have been lying
for years, telling ‘em I’m incompetent. Ask
Overholser. He knows damn well I have my wits
about me. Not that he’d ever admit it.
BETSY
They won’t be able to keep you here forever.
They’ll have to release you some time.
POUND
Not until they’ve tried me, and they can’t
try me unless I can prove to ‘em I’m sane.
BETSY
But you’re safe here.
POUND
Safe!
(Beat)
Oh yes. I’ve been talking myself to sleep
for years, deluding myself into believing that
the safety of this hell-hole was preferable
to taking the bastards on. Well, if I’d been
as crazy as they said I was, I’d be seein’
things by now. What was I afraid of? Death?
The fear of death is Death.
BETSY
You mustn’t let them put you on trial, Grampaw.
POUND
Why not? Why shouldn’t I stand up and tell
‘em what I think? You said so yourself - I’m
just as sane as you are… you and Margaret.
BETSY
They won’t let you win. They’ll just say
you’re guilty and execute you. That’s how
they work. You’re not like other people.
The fact that you’re a poet means nothing
to them. They don’t care about poetry.
POUND
Survival at any cost, eh?
BETSY
I don’t want you to die, Grampaw. Not by
their hands. It’s not time. You have more
to write, more to say. You can’t do anything if
you’re dead.
POUND
“If a man ain’t prepared to take some risks
for what he believes in, either his beliefs
are no good, or he’s no good.” So which is it?
BETSY
They’ll destroy you.
POUND
No one can hide the truth forever.
(HE turns away. HE notices the
books and notes BETSY has
deposited on his desk)
POUND (Continued)
What’s all this?
BETSY
You said you wanted some information about the
Australian Aborigines. It was part of our agreement.
POUND
Wait a minute. I know you. You’re s’posed to be a
Wednesday.
BETSY
What?
POUND
What day is today?
BETSY
Saturday.
POUND
That’s right. That explains it. We were talking about
the Aborigines.
BETSY
That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.
POUND
And you were supposed to come back on a Wednesday.
It was you, wasn’t it?
BETSY
I couldn’t get away. I had exams.
POUND
Or were you a Tuesday?
BETSY
You were asking about the Wandjina. I… I brought
everything I could find.
POUND
The who?
BETSY
The Wandjina.
POUND
Wandjina?
BETSY
You said it might be a key.
POUND
A key? What sort of key?
BETSY
You said you thought it might have something to do
with you being here.
POUND
Wandjina.
BETSY
That’s what you said.
(Beat)
Maybe if you read through the notes…
POUND
“And Tom wore a tin disc, a circular can-lid with his
name on it, solely: for Wandjina has lost his mouth…
man on whom the sun has gone down.”
(Pause)
Wandjina. Yes. Of course.
BETSY
Grampaw?
POUND
I remember one summer walking along an old road
and discovering a dead deer. You could feel its
presence there, weeks, even months, later. I’m
sure if I was there now I would still feel it.
Then there was that fishing hole full of edible
red-fin… and that special, shady tree near
Sant’ Ambrogio - a eucalypt, down the hill from
the villa…
(HE extracts something from his
pocket)
Here.
BETSY
What is it?
POUND
A nut. From the tree.
BETSY
Oh.
(SHE reaches out, but POUND
withdraws it into himself. Puts
it back in his pocket)
POUND
Places full of power. Sacred places. Places where
one feels a contentment, a belonging; where one
feels whole.
BETSY
I’ve always loved the subway. The smell of cigar
smoke… woolen coats in winter… the newsprint.
It makes me think of when I was a girl.
POUND
You grew up in the city?
BETSY
New Rochelle.
POUND
Ah!
BETSY
I still love it.
POUND
That’s what I’m talking about! Those special,
personal places; not special by chance,
but because we find parts of ourselves in ‘em,
and leave parts of ourselves behind. The parts
of the world we create. Like the Wandjina.
(HE moves to his clothesline
filing system)
A long time ago, before the war, some young people –
students of Frobenius – came to my house in Rapallo.
They had sketches they’d made on one of their
expeditions…
(HE grabs hold of a
large piece of
paper, turns it round
to reveal a full-
length drawing of a
Wandjina figure)
Drawings like this one. There are several hundred
of them on the walls of caves in the hinterland
of Auss’ralia. Look at the expression! It’s as
if he was sitting squarely on top of his own
anxiety.
(HE hangs it prominently on the
wall over the bed)
BETSY
They look sort of like spacemen, don’t they?
POUND
Don’t be daft! They’ve got nothing to do with
spacemen.
(Beat)
If intuition has a face, there it is! And someone has
actually drawn it!
BETSY
Without mouths.
POUND
Yes.
(Beat)
So, what happened to the mouths?
BETSY
They weren’t needed any more.
POUND
Weren’t needed?
BETSY
The Aborigines believe the Wandjina created the
world, the entire world, with words, with names. All
they had to do was name something and it would exist.
Trees, mountains, animals. Everything. They say if the
Wandjina hadn’t been stopped they would’ve made too
many things. So the mouths were taken away.
POUND
Taken away?
BETSY
Removed. To stop the names.
POUND
To stop them speaking.
BETSY
If they’d kept going, they would’ve destroyed the
world. There would’ve been too many things.
POUND
(A revelation)
So it was a punishment!
(Beat)
I knew it. If only I hadn’t been so dumb.
BETSY
I think you better read the notes.
POUND
(Pointing to drawing)
The tribe that made these had sixteen words
for water.
Nomad, the antithesis of noman,
knows the sacred places;
is fluid and capable of
exactitude, without writing,
without books or libraries,
precisely because he is in his place.
The Land is alive.
It has everything to do with his life!
Sixteen words for water!
(Beat)
How many do you have?
BETSY
(Shrugs)
Water.
POUND
Exactly. A vain abstraction aided by adjectives.
BETSY
Why does it matter?
POUND
Because rain water is different from surface water,
and salt water is not the same as fresh.
It has to do with immediacy -
a knowledge of the world at first-hand.
“Periplum, not as land looks on a map
but as sea bord seen by men sailing.”
Otherwise we look at life
as through a two-way mirror.
BETSY
Sixteen words for water.
POUND
So how is it that the Aborigines had such ideas
about the world, and never wrote a book, or built a
chapel, or composed a fugue, or invented an atom
bomb?
BETSY
Maybe they had no need for them.
POUND
Because they know who they are! “Our humanity
is counterfeit; our liberty, cankered with
simulation.” Wrong from the start.
BETSY
You can say too much sometimes, Grampaw.
Sometimes you have to stop talking so that
people can hear what you’ve said.
POUND
The difference between the Wandjina and
me is that it was the gods who took their
mouths away… mine was removed by the State.
BETSY
Sometimes silence can be more powerful
than words.
POUND
Only when one is finished with creation.
(Pause)
Those without confidence in banksia
and spinifex for lack of education
must have thought Terra Australis a lost land -
an aberrant continent -
where everything is back to front.
Even now, the white men wander
uncertain, uncomfortable;
and not for want of plumbing or electricity,
but because they do not understand where they are.
I am talking about the power of the Land.
“No one prospers unless everyone prospers”
was the bushman’s law;
vis a vis: the white man’s grace sez:
“if I can’t have it, you won’t either”.
The stance of men who are threatened,
unable to embrace the land, in the European
produced self-deprecation; produces war
whose language is barricade,
wishing fauns cavorted on sand dunes,
dreaming of genii riding kangaroo.
We speak with a thousand borrowed voices,
calling them our own, and wonder why
we cannot trust ourselves.
We define ourselves by what we are not.
BETSY
You are not an Aborigine, Grampaw. You are a poet…
and a very great poet.
POUND
Yes. Ouan Jin! The man of letters. The man with an
education. A man on whom the sun has gone down.
(Beat)
But I am also related to them!
(pointing)
To the Wandjina! And so are you.
BETSY
We are no longer tribal people.
POUND
We are all tribal people under the skin.
And we deny this at the expense
of tearing ourselves in half…
which we do everyday, very well -
the tearing, I mean. We have made it in to an art.
Some in the name of competitiveness,
some from a fear of scarcity,
some believing Nature is the enemy.
But the Dreaming lives in each of us -
the tides of kinship and a susceptibility
for seeing ourselves in the Land
when we stop and look.
“The gods never left us.”
BETSY
There are lots of different kinds of worlds.
You can’t live in all of them.
POUND
The trick is to live even in one!
BETSY
The trick is to stay alive.
POUND
At what cost?
(HE sits)
BETSY
You scare me, Grampaw.
POUND
That’s because you see me as a metaphor.
But there is wisdom in recognizing that a
desk is a desk, and a chair, a chair. We
are not so terribly different from the Aborigines,
you know… except our language does not make us
custodians of the Earth, but Earth’s adversaries.
A man cannot live in fragments. He must
know the place he started from, and then let
others know.
BETSY
They’ll call it treason.
POUND
They can call it whatever they like. But the worst
treason is the one we commit against ourselves -
speaking when we should be silent; or worse, being
silent when we should speak.
BETSY
And if they kill you?
POUND
So long as the money-lenders sleep peacefully
in their beds there will be no end to war.
Two world wars in one century, and more to come,
arranged by men with blank eyes, setting corpses
to banquet at the behest of usury.
And who pays for their greed? Us! Always. With our
lives. And still we go on voting the asses in who
pass the laws and make the deals so the bankers
won’t go begging. “Love of money beyond all other
love, gain at the expense of everything that is
admirable.” Those who can still see and speak
must make themselves heard.
BETSY
That sounds like Communism.
POUND
Communism!
BETSY
If they hear you talk like that…
POUND
Communism hain’t even practiced by the higher
mammals! Wake up, girl! Wild dogs collaborate! I
wouldn’t be caught dead with Communism.
Compared to me, Eisenhower’s practically a fellow
traveler.
(Thinking better of his
outburst)
Sorry.
BETSY
You’re going to let them try you.
POUND
I’m going to say what I have to say.
BETSY
It won’t help. It won’t bring you any peace.
POUND
Peace comes from good manners, and manners are
from the earth and water and the knowledge that comes
of being where one belongs. I have lost contact with
the Earth.
BETSY
I shouldn’t have come.
(POUND draws closer)
POUND
You came here to save me, didn’t you?
BETSY
I tried.
POUND
You mad at me?
BETSY
I love you.
(A SIGNIFICANT PAUSE)
(Before POUND has a chance to
speak, the door to POUND’s room
opens, and the WOMAN from the
Justice Department enters)
WOMAN
Oh, I’m sorry. They didn’t tell me you had a visitor.
POUND
Well, well, well… the Department of Justice.
(His arm raised in greeting, stopping
short of the fascist salute)
How are you, my dear?
(They shake)
WOMAN
Mr Pound.
POUND
The pleasure is all mine. And let me introduce you to…
WOMAN
Hello Betsy.
BETSY
Hello.
WOMAN
Margaret.
(POUND blinks in surprise, his
glance moving between the WOMAN
and the unseen Margaret)
POUND
You know each other?
WOMAN
Only professionally.
(POUND turns to BETSY)
BETSY
` It’s not like you think, Grampaw.
POUND
What do I think?
BETSY
I had to see you.
WOMAN
(To BETSY)
So how did it go?
BETSY
I don’t want to talk about it.
POUND
Talk about what?
WOMAN
Did he tell you about Australia?
BETSY
Not now, please.
POUND
What is this?
BETSY
I can explain everything.
POUND
Did she send you?
BETSY
No. It’s not like that at all. She told me
to stay away.
POUND
Would someone mind telling me what’s going on?
WOMAN
Betsy’s been sending us petitions for the
past twelve months, trying to have you pardoned.
BETSY
You have no right to imprison him like this.
WOMAN
She thinks we want to kill you.
BETSY
You’ve done a pretty good job of it.
WOMAN
She seems to think that if I tell them you’re sane,
the government will execute you.
BETSY
Don’t trust her, Grampaw.
WOMAN
She thinks you’ve been victimized.
BETSY
It’s true!
WOMAN
She identifies with you.
POUND
How do you two know each other?
BETSY
(To WOMAN)
Don’t!
WOMAN
Betsy used to be one of my patients.
BETSY
You’re the one who needs a shrink.
WOMAN
Her mother and I are old friends.
BETSY
Leave her out of it!
WOMAN
I’m sorry if she’s disturbed you.
POUND
Not at all.
WOMAN
I’ll speak to Mr Brierson. There’s obviously been a
breach in security.
BETSY
I can explain everything, Grampaw.
POUND
You don’t have to.
BETSY
But I want you to know how I feel.
POUND
It’s okay.
(Affectionately)
You’ve already told me.
(To WOMAN)
She came all the way from New York.
WOMAN
Really!
POUND
She brought me the information I was looking for.
(HE takes BETSY’S hand)
Not that it was information, exactly.
WOMAN
What’s going on?
POUND
Oh, you would’ve had to have been here, my dear.
Betsy and I… and, uh… Margaret… we’ve been having
a very interesting talk, haven’t we?
WOMAN
I see.
POUND
You do?
WOMAN
(To BETSY)
I hope you got what you wanted.
BETSY
I’m not talking to you.
WOMAN
Your mother won’t be pleased about this Betsy.
BETSY
Then don’t tell her.
WOMAN
Maybe you ought to run along now.
BETSY
Grampaw!
POUND
She’s my guest.
(Pause)
WOMAN
Very well then. She’ll find out anyway. I’m
afraid I have some bad news for you, Mr Pound.
I thought I’d better come myself.
POUND
(To BETSY)
Notice how she prolongs the suspense for
dramatic effect.
WOMAN
It’s not what you think.
POUND
You told them I was sane, didn’t you?
WOMAN
Yes, I did.
POUND
Good!
WOMAN
I also told them I believed you’d been
using insanity as a way of escaping the
charges.
POUND
Excellent tactic!
WOMAN
Technically… clinically, there’s no reason
why you shouldn’t be put on trial.
POUND
Now you’re talking!
BETSY
Why can’t you just leave him alone?
WOMAN
I’m sorry, Mr Pound.
POUND
Oh, don’t be sorry, my dear. I’m looking
forward to it.
BETSY
Haven’t you hurt him enough?
WOMAN
You can put your tape recorder away, Betsy.
You’ve won.
POUND
What?
WOMAN
She believed it was a way of protecting you.
POUND
Protecting me?
BETSY
Don’t tell him! You have no right!
WOMAN
She’s been threatening to do it for weeks.
BETSY
Don’t listen to her, Grampaw.
WOMAN
She thought if she could get you on tape…
BETSY
You promised!
WOMAN
… she’d have the evidence to prove you were insane.
BETSY
No! Please.
WOMAN
But he’s not crazy, Betsy!
(POUND turns to BETSY)
BETSY
I didn’t want them to hurt you, Grampaw. I… I…
POUND
It’s all right. I know. I know.
(To WOMAN)
What do you mean, she’s won?
WOMAN
They already had their minds made up. You
were right. They didn’t listen to me. My
report was only a formality. It would seem
that what I think and say no longer counts.
In the opinion of Doctor Overholser, you’re
still suffering from some kind of psychotic
disorder. I’m afraid the panel’s decided
to accept his recommendation. They believe
you’re unfit to enter a plea.
POUND
Unfit!
WOMAN
Incapable.
POUND
On what grounds?
WOMAN
Mental competency. Lack of.
BETSY
You mean they’re not going to try him?
POUND
She means they’re a pack of cowards.
WOMAN
I did what I could, Mr Pound.
BETSY
He never should’ve been arrested in the
first place.
WOMAN
Stay out of it, Betsy.
POUND
Good strategy, my dear, keeping Pound away from
the forum of a courtroom.
BETSY
(To POUND)
They can’t touch you!
WOMAN
It’s finished.
POUND
Like hell it is.
BETSY
Don’t argue with her.
POUND
They don’t know what they’re talking about.
BETSY
Leave it, Grampaw.
POUND
They haven’t proven a damn thing!
WOMAN
They don’t have to.
(Pause)
POUND
Oh yes! Yes, they do. One day they will
have to account for me. History will have to
account for me. They can’t keep me locked
up here forever.
WOMAN
They’re not intending to.
POUND
So what’re they gonna do now? Hang me without
a trial?
WOMAN
Believe me, Mr Pound, if it had been up
to me I would’ve much rather seen you answer
the charges, with or without the death
penalty. At least it would’ve been settled.
POUND
What’re you driving at?
WOMAN
They’re going to release you.
POUND
(In union with BETSY)
Release me!
BETSY
(In unison with POUND)
What!
WOMAN
You’ve been judged incurably insane. They’ve
decided you’ll never be fit enough to stand
trial. You’re to be placed in the care of
your wife. It’s over, Mr Pound.
BETSY
That means… he’s free.
(POUND stares at the WOMAN,
then turns to BETSY)
POUND
(Profoundly)
Noooo!
(POUND moves away)
BETSY
But they’re going to let him go. He’s safe now.
WOMAN
Yes. Safe.
(SHE moves closer
to POUND)
I wanted you to know… I’m leaving the Department.
(Beat)
I had to go against what I believed in to tell
the truth about you. I don’t think I would’ve
been able to have lived with myself if I hadn’t.
(Beat)
Sometimes, the only thing you can do is walk
away.
(Beat)
I’m sorry.
(Pause… then turning to
BETSY)
Can I give you a lift?
BETSY
No.
WOMAN
Don’t worry, Betsy. I won’t tell your
mother.
BETSY
I’ll make my own way.
WOMAN
Suit yourself. I’ll see you on Tuesday.
(Beat)
Good-bye, Mr Pound.
(SHE turns and exits)
POUND
All my enemies have turned to dust.
BETSY
What does it mean, Grampaw?
POUND
It means nothing… nothing will be rectified.
(Stage lights dim. Spotlight up on
POUND. The silence is broken by
a distant, mad howling from one of
the wards. POUND cocks his head,
listening)
POUND (Continued)
You see! Drammer is reduced to this.
The man gave everything he had.
An unconfident country will take it all,
give nothing in return…
then you awake, wordless,
with the moon in a window.
One belongs to the world… or to nothing.
(Stage lights slowly fade up.
POUND moves to his desk.
BETSY waits, holding a
microphone)
BETSY
Thank you for doing this for us.
POUND
It may be the last thing I do. Silence is
beginning to look more and more appealing.
I suppose one can be captured by it.
(BETSY adjusts the volume
on the tape recorder. SHE
holds the microphone a few
inches from POUND’S mouth.
SHE nods)
POUND (Continued)
Sic semper tyrannis,
a brackish tribulation.
Great skill precedes creation.
A knowledge of plants and birds
serves better than a stipend;
There are still those who walk the Earth
and know this, who are attuned to
the distribution of the spirits of children.
The Land is an extension of the body.
(Stage lights begin to
fade as a small spotlight
illuminates POUND’S
face)
And those who come from other places,
for whom custom is only business,
have no ears for the stories the Earth can tell -
and no knowledge…
(Stage lights out.
Spotlight on face)
More isolated than I, in my hell-hole,
dreaming of the Wandjina.
(Spotlight out -
BLACKOUT)
END ACT 2